


Lupercalia

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Lost Friend/Love, Lupercalia, Men Dressed like Wolves, Mild Smut, None Traditional Werewolves, One Shot, Pagan Festivals, Sacrifices, Scary Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 10:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21117284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: His head is covered with a gray wolf headdress. The ears of the unlucky animal stick right up and he’s staring at me. The only reason I know the man standing frozen in front of me is Him, is because I can see the halfmoon scar left by my own teeth on the outside of his right thumb.“Peeta” I didn’t know his name made it past my lips. He used to be my best friend. Now he’s chasing after me like I’m his prey.





	Lupercalia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MegaAuLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaAuLover/gifts).

> I do not own THG.
> 
> Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I promised MegaAuLover ages ago I was going to write her a fic about werewolves in Valentines, but life and other nuisances happened... and I’ve missed her birthday twice!!! I know I suck, but here it is boo, hope you like it! 
> 
> Happy Birthday Rach!!!!

Normally, I’m skeptical about all the superstitions surrounding the Festival of Lupercalia, especially after last year’s events left such a bitter taste in my mouth, but it’s hard not to feel relieved with the rest of Panem when the wind feels less biting, the snow has let up, and the sun has actually made an appearance after being absent for months.

It’s been a devastatingly cold winter. Nothing in the open has survived the frigid temperatures; skinny tree trunks that froze over during the coldest nights have splintered and twisted, their bark turned to shavings that pooled on the ground like giant mounds of sawdust ringing the dead trunks; the ground is so dry and hard, cracks have appeared everywhere, overturning roots and rocks previously protected under soft soil; some houses have suffered sunken walls, entire rooms collapsed because the ruptured of the ground. Roads are now littered with folds and creases that make traversing them cumbersome.

People made certain sacrifices during the worst of it. Anyone raising livestock or late crops, brought what they could indoors, often at the expense of family pets left to fend for themselves in the bitter cold outdoors while chickens, goats and pigs took their spaces inside people’s dwellings.

My family only has a nanny goat to protect, and the world’s ugliest cat, Buttercup, after the yellow blooms according to my sister, Primrose, although in my opinion the felines fur resembles dirty mustard more closely.

Our shack is small, but we already keep my mother’s herbs in pots inside the house, or drying from the rafters. Buttercup keeps himself fed and warm, so we do not worry about him as much. The stench of animal droppings is revolting, but other families have it worse than us, and while I’m not as naive as Prim, I know we were luckier than most.

Sweet Primrose seeks silver linings to the chaos around us. Time and again she’s commented on how being able to monitor animal droppings, insures there won’t be a shortage of manure come reseeding season in the fields. I haven’t the heart to tell her people actually collect and store the waste, in the event they may need to turn into a food source, if things don’t improve soon.

Those are the times I can’t begrudge my people their faith, regardless of my unease with the festivities. Everyone’s praying for Spring in desperation. If the bad weather lingers, there’s no telling what will become of us the rest of the year.

My father used to say we all needed something to believe in, to give us hope; that’s what Lupercalia brings to everyone in Panem: hope. As abhorrent as it is for me.

Tradition dictates that today, the fifteenth of February, is a time of cleansing; eliminating the impurities of the winter months, both physical and emotional; airing our homes; beating old rugs, and sleep rolls and pillows with rods blessed by Lupa and anointed by the priests.

Today is also a time to find favor with the Moon goddess, Mother Lupa, through gifts and debauchery. Everyone has been preparing their offerings, they hope to exchange for her blessings in the coming year.

“Katniss,” my sister calls from behind the goat, interrupting my ruminations. “I’m about done milking Lady, will you portion this milk for my while I bathe?” Her voice is sweet, her face as fresh as a dew drop, even with her slight flush and fly-away strands of her golden hair escaping her braid.

I give her a grunt in response, since I’m patching up a loose board on the floor, by the front door.

“I was hoping to bring the biggest ball of cheese and a bottle of milk as offering today.” She adds wiping her hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

I huff, “Sure. Though I don’t see the point. We are already offering more than we should.” I say under my breath.

“Katniss—“

I drop my wooden mallet loudly on the floor, cutting off Prim’s protests. I’m in no mood for them today. I’ve already lost precious loved ones to Lupercalia, and I fear I’ll lose more today if I let my mind waddle in the thoughts.

“Go take a bath. I’ll clean up after you’re done.”

My sister’s blue eyes soften, but she won’t push the issue any further.

It’s customary for families to bring forth the best they can offer: crops in exchange for fair weather and a healthy harvest. The fattest pig, goat or turkey to insure their animals produce strong offsprings and good milk. A maiden can offer a lock of her hair or something equally vapid for luck catching a passable husband in the next year. Prim and I only have Lady the goat, so she’s bringing cheese and milk we get from Lady. So on and so forth. And then, there are the Tributes. Living, breathing boys and girls from our community.

On a normal year, people shy away from volunteering human sacrifices. No one wants to part with their children if they can spare them, but every year maidens and young girls are entered into the Reaping. Their names get written into clay tablets and put into big, clay bowls, from where one is chosen to be given as tribute to the goddess and her servants, the Lupinaeda.

This year, as the Festival of Lupercalia neared, more and more girls my age and younger, have been offered by their families as tributes for the goddess. I can only assume this is a result of fear and our precarious situation. I guess winters like this one, harsh and unforgiving, help dehumanize the Reaping, making the use of a young woman as sacrifice for the greater good of the town more tolerable.

Of course, my skin breaks out in goose flesh, a shiver runs down my spine and I have to grit my teeth to keep from growling. If everyone really believes that winter may end this month— this very day— by giving up an innocent maid to satiate the carnal appetites of Lupa’s servants, then I don’t want to be part of this society any longer. But the practice has been so deeply ingrained in our traditions, people can stomach the Festival, and the Reaping for that matter, as a necessary evil.

I for one wished the Reapings abolished, but participation in the excessive celebrations is unofficially mandatory, otherwise one will become subject of the ostracization of neighbors and the accusatory glare of the elders of the town.

While the Reaping pool is exclusively female and very loose on age limitations, the young males of our society aren’t exempt from becoming Tributes themselves. They’re process is different though, but not any more palatable in my opinion. At least the girls know if there’s a chance they will be picked, the boys choosing is random and unexpected.

Boys, between sixteen and nineteen are chosen by Lupa herself. The Tributes tend to be physically strong, talented in certain areas, and clever enough to catch the goddess’ attention. Some of the male tributes are exceptionally intelligent. Above all, male tributes are viril and handsome. Their fate is viewed as more prestigious than that of the girl tributes, but only because they are at risk of death for their initiation.

Female tributes can be anything, from slaves in the temple of Lupa, to mates to one or more members of the Lupinaeda, to watchers of the priestesses. The deciding factors on how each new maid tribute achieves her position in the Temple, are uncertain for people outside the Lupinaeda themselves. Not even the priesthood has a clear idea of what goes on.

But male tributes become part of the Lupinaeda, Moon Servants, responsible for the cult to Mother Lupa. They are just a step above the priesthood when it comes to authority, and mostly at par with the High Priestess when it comes to Lupa’s commands. But to be part of the Lupinaeda, being hand-picked by the goddess herself isn’t enough. The tributes have to show resilience, endurance, and prove themselves worthy of their position.

The chosen boy is thrown into the wild with no weapons, food or tools, and after a period of time, when he’s mastered nature, as his last test, he has to face off against a fully grown wolf. If the tribute conquers the animal, he’s rewarded with the right to wear the slain wolf’s pelt like a robe over his bare shoulders and torso, only then the tribute is permitted to enter the Temple and join his brothers as part of the Lupinaeda,

The Lupinaeda aren’t quite men; after their time in the wilderness they become feral. They walk and talk like men, but their eyes grow wilder, brighter, keener. Their ears become pointed and twitchy. Their diet changes to raw meats and vegetables. Their needs become basic, primal: sleep, eat, mate, hunt. Some still study the sciences and can be consulted on different areas of town life for they’re wise and knowledgeable beyond their years. An aura of savagery shrouds them, but I guess that’s part of the appeal.

It is said that Lupa herself speaks to the wolffish men. They do her bidding like obedient sons, and she blesses them with long lives, and superhuman skills. They get to eat the offerings the people brings for the Festival of Lupercalia, animal and crop alike, and on the years when female tributes are offered in abundance, they may get more than one tribute to use as they please.

If a female tribute is deemed genetically superior by Lupa, she will automatically become a Mate. Those are the years I dislike the most, because the Lupinaeda becomes rowdy, restless, excited. Their eyes shine spookily under the shadows of their headpieces, and tension becomes overwhelming for the rest of us witnessing the Reaping and the introduction of the female tribute.

In those years, the rest of the ceremony gets moved to the woods, away from human eyes in what they call the ‘Tribute run’.

I’m almost certain the poor tribute gets chased in the woods by the man-wolves until they catch her and do who-knows-what to the poor thing. Though it’s understood that for the most part, only one Were-wolf gets the honor of mating with a tribute. There are exceptions, for example, the man could die and the mate would just pass to the next lupinaeda brother. All of the complexities of Lupinaeda life is murky for the rest of us.

I shudder just thinking about tributes who become mates.

No woman who mates with one of the half-wolves has ever spoken of what goes on beyond the boundaries of the wilderness. The Mates are allowed to return to town once they find themselves with child. The children of the Lupinaeda receive higher education and become the Luperci, priestesses and priests of the Lupercal cult. The Mates themselves become property of their partners and seldom assimilate back into society, living the rest of their lives out in the wilderness surrounding the Temple of Lupa.

In another time, I wouldn’t have much mind Lupercalia. I would’ve even been somewhat enthusiastic about the festival and the few good things that come with it, like the start of a new season, the renewed strength of the cleansing rituals, the few idle hours in the morning before the Reaping, when everyone is awarded an extra few hours of sleep.

But this year I’m anxious and uncomfortable, and it is not because the winter has been so awful.

Every year, before this one, our family has been exempt of the reaping, but not this one. My mother is a healer, my father a renowned hunter. Each of them took a child and passed down their knowledge, giving us a trade to protect us. I’m a fully fledged huntress and my sister is a healer in training. In previous years, we would’ve been considered essential for the survival of Panem, therefore, untouchable.

But my father perished in the inclement weather while hunting alone a few months ago, and my mother took to her bed, ill with paralyzing sadness after his death. My mother is slowly getting better, but nothing has been the same ever since. Somehow our neighbors see our tragedy as a sign that we needed to provide an offering as well, and with my mother partially incapacitated, there has been only what little resistance I’ve managed to posed against the idea. Unfortunately, my opposition wasn’t enough to dissuade the elders of Panem.

The the least clever of our leaders are clamoring for my sister to take the burden of tribute upon her slim, delicate shoulders; their reasoning rests solely on the notion that since my father is dead, I’m one of very few fully qualified hunters in town, which apparently makes me indispensable.

Never mind my sister is only fourteen. And let’s completely overlook the fact the people need skilled and learned healers more than hunters.

Anyone can hunt if the hunger presses, but healing only comes easy for those with a vocation for it. While my sister, Primrose, is still a pupil, she’s more qualified to heal anyone in this village than my own grieving mother at the moment, but the idiots in charge can’t seem to grasp this simple truth.

It saddens me to admit this, but there’s no guarantee my mother will recuperate completely from her melancholy. If she doesn’t, Panem will be losing not one, but two healers they can’t afford to lose. Still, the elders won’t hear reason, no matter how much I plead with them.

Now, Primrose is young, but precocious and determined. She feels bound to her duty, and has all but signed her own name to be reaped. My heart breaks a little watching her sit behind my mother’s prone form to brush her hair and plait it while explaining where and why we are going.

Prim kisses our mother’s forehead and whispers sweetly. “I love you mother. Never forget that.”

I have to look away, or I’ll break down in sobs. Instead, I make sure we are both dressed in warm coats of pelts over our wool dresses, that our boots are properly laced and that Prim chooses a sturdy, fat, walking stick that could double as a weapon if the need arises. Lupercalia is not a sweet, pacific festival, and anything can happen during the rowdier moments.

“What do I need this for?” Prim purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest petulantly.

“Humor me, please? It would make me feel better, knowing you can whack somebody over the head if they try anything while I’m not there to help.” I say trying not to roll my eyes.

“Fine!” She slouches forward and chooses a heavy, gnarly limb that has been polished and whittled to end in a sharp point, by our father himself. “I’m not happy about this, and I may complain repeatedly about having to carry this rod with me.” She threatens, squinting her sky blue eyes at me.

I force my face to remain neutral, but I can’t help the slight upward tick of my lips at her defiance. My little sister has all the makings of a spit fire. I wished we could grow old together, so I can see her develop into it. I think I would love grown up Prim even more than I already love her.

Once we are dressed and armed with walking sticks, I march my sister down the worn cobblestone roads, holding her hand in mine like we did when we were little, until we reach the City Circle, where all the tributes are expected to stand and wait for the Reaping.

The festivities have three parts: the Lupinaeda’s parade, the Reaping of the Tributes, and the ceremonial anointing of the tributes.

Likewise, the town of Panem gets divided into two sections: affluent merchants and hand laborers. One can easily tell who belongs where just by the side of the Grand Road they occupy.

For example, while Primrose and I come to the edge of the cobblestone path facing the steps of the Temple of Lupa, another group of people arrives on the other side of the Grand Road, with much pomp and circumstance; a complete contrast to the doom and gloom of the Tribute stands.

Across the street, carved out into a boulder too big to be removed, starts the marble staircase, leading to the bridge over the Grand Road that connects both sides of Panem.

The first steps of the case are reserved for betrothed and married women of high society. One of the most nonsensical traditions of Lupercalia says that as the Lupinaeda parades through town, right before the reaping of the tributes, the high society women looking to conceive in the coming year, extend their hands over the railings of the marble stairs so the Lupinaeda can strike at their palms and fingers with the tails of their ceremonial hides.

Over time, the Lupinaeda started to fashion themselves thin stripes of leather they tie to their pelts for the sole purpose of making the flesh of these silly women sting painfully with each lash they land on their hands. The leather tongues are supposed to signify a wolf’s tail. Then an even sillier notion was born, if this glorified flogging resulted in marks that persisted the full length of Lupercalia, the woman on the receiving end of the lashes could considered herself blessed by Mother Lupa. Her womb would be filled with many children soon, that would later become the tributes of the future.

I can’t help my eye roll. Lupa can make me barren for all I care. If my potential children would ever be in danger of starvation like Prim and I have this year, I don’t want them! Plus… there was only one boy I would ever consider for marriage, and he isn’t available anymore.

“Big turn out today, huh?” Says Prim under her breath. I think she’s being facetious, since this is Lupercalia. Everyone loves it, except for me apparently.

“It’s the first nice day of the season. Plus the air is fresh out here. I can see the appeal.” I say curtly. I’m sure anyone with an animal at home would be dying to get away if for only a few minutes.

“Mmmm. They certainly don’t seem to mind the temperature.” Prim points out, staring darkly at the aristocratic brides pinching their cheeks to give themselves a blushing appearance.

They might need it soon anyway, if they don’t want to resemble ice statues. They way they’re dressed is so moronic. Their arms and shoulders are semi bare. Their light linen tunics can’t be all that warm either. But when I see them moving closer to one another, laughing and gossiping amongst themselves, probably placing bets on this year’s tributes, and gloating about the good fortune of being married women and free from the reaping, I can’t bring myself to care much whether they freeze to death in their ill advised outfits or get their flesh torn up by Lupinaeda lashes.

“They will mind it soon enough, Prim. And it would be amusing to witness if they forgot to pack proper coats later on.” I say with a small smirk that my sister replicates right back.

“Oh, that would be delectable.”

I arch my eyebrows at her in astonishment, a chuckle escapes her and I shake my head ruefully.

“Primrose Everdeen, what would Mother say if she heard you speak in such a way?” I tease, tugging lightly on her braid. She recently started wearing her hair in a single plait instead of two. A sure reminder she’s not a little girl anymore.

I force my mind to leave that line of thinking, or else my resentment at the elders would be unbearable.

I find it unfair that my sister, who’s not even old enough to be officially courted by a peer, would be forced to enter into a festival of debauchery and indecency, where people who’s supposed to be honorable and decent, gets away with bawdy behavior under the influence of so much liquor, belting out songs of embarrassing, licentious lyrics depicting scandalous sex encounters, for all to hear. Then, after the cleansing, they abstain of any spirits, indecency and provocative speech, for the remainder of the season.

I feel rage grow in my chest.

We may be starving from foods that grow in plants, but alcohol we have in spades, and it will all be consumed today! I grunt at the thought. While those vapid aristocratic wenches fan themselves and wait to be whipped by the Lupinaeda with excitement, my 14 year old sister’s name is written in a clay square waiting to be plucked to be declared fair game for a group of savage man-wolves’ desires.

There’s no justice!

I wished my father was alive and my mother was coherent enough to help Prim and myself.

“Katniss,” Prim whispers, her gloved hand wraps tightly around mine. “It’s alright.” She says placatingly.

“It’s not.” I mutter. “None of this is.”

All the would-be tributes huddle together to leech some warmth off each other, and for the first time, I take a look around. Half of these girls are too young to be even considered tributes, most are ill clothed, barefoot and too thin.

It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.

My jaw tightens when I spot a girl, not much older than Prim, with dark skin and dark hair, shaking like a leaf. The poor thing only wears a cotton dress with a woven shawl that has seen better days. She wears thin stockings on her feet and nothing else. Before I can second guess myself, I strip down to my wool dress— a blue thing that belonged to my mother in her youth— and move in the girl’s direction.

Prim looks at me curiously. “What are you doing, Katniss?” She hisses under her breath taking hold of my sleeve.

“Giving that girl my coat and boots. She’ll catch her death wearing only that.” I tell her in a curt whisper. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“But, Katniss… you should have given her my clothes! You’ll be frozen solid by the end of the tribute run. You won’t make it home without boots!”

But I’m already close enough to the girl, I can actually touch her shoulder and get her attention.

The girl’s brown eyes widened when she realizes I’m trying to drape my furry coat over her shoulders.

“Please miss,” She stutters, whether from the cold or embarrassment, I don’t know. “I could never take your coat. I’m but a peasant who gathers fruit in an orchard. My master has no age appropriate children for the reaping, so he offered me as tribute to the goddess. I have nothing to repay you with.”

My ire spikes. “What is your name, child?” I ask trying not to sound too harsh.

“Rue, ma’am.”

“If you are not reaped, you will come work for my mother, Healer Everdeen. You will do her bidding and live in her house. Your old master forfeited your contract by offering you to the goddess. You’ll be free to seek employment elsewhere after the Reaping. Do you understand?”

“Thank you ma’am. I will forever be in your debt. But I still won’t take your boots or coat.”

Prim has joined us, presumably unable to sit still waiting for my return. She peers at Rue curiously for a moment, but then she smiles.

“I have a blanket we can huddle under if you rather do that,” Offers my sister softly.

Rue nods, shivering, her soulful eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “I’ll like that very much.”

“Then come along and stand with us. We can all share the heaviest of the skins and be warm.” I say turning on my heel to go back to our spot.

Prim’s anxious face relaxes when Rue follows us. The girls get along famously right away, and I smile. I knew Prim’s heart would be open without question. I convince Rue to put her feet in my boots for a few minutes, just to warm herself. I don’t plan to take them back though, but she doesn’t need to know that.

There’s a collective chattering of teeth in the crowd. I wish the Lupinaeda would hurry up and get this torture over with already. But then the horns blear in the distance, and my eyes fall on Primrose’s stoic face. Her features are as placid as the waters of a lake, yet her eyes can’t mask the alarm she’s feeling inside. I feel the same way. Maybe worse.

There’s a growing murmur filling the narrowed roads. A distant drumming gains volume, and soon the streets and alleyways converging in the City Circle are live with the frantic beating of drums a single blow horn and racing hearts. The rabble of people chants as the Lupinaeda enters the Grand Road practically dancing.

When I was little, the Lupinaeda’s headdresses frightened me. I’m sure it happens to every child, really, watching a man whose face essentially looks like it’s being eaten by a flatten out wolf. Most headdress keep the shape of the wolf’s head intact, so when a man wears his hide, they can use the wolf’s head as mask, obscuring half their faces under it.

In an effort to comfort me, my father started telling me stories of how Mother Lupa would take the skin of her favorite fallen warrior wolves, and fashioned capes with the pelts to dress her devoted Lupinaeda. By wearing the wolves skins, Mother Lupa granted men the wisdom, agility and strength of the animals, which made them look so intimidating. I’m not sure my father based his stories on actual folklore, so old our people forgot them, or if he made them up on the fly as we went. I wished he was here to ask him.

The Lupinaeda doesn’t scare me anymore. I kill and skin my own game now, ceremonial hides don’t scare me easily. I still wouldn’t want to find myself alone with one of them in the middle of the night. And ultimately, I dislike them because they take good, wholesome boys, rip them away from their families and friends and turn them into monster they weren’t. Mutts.

I look to Prim and young Rue once more.They just met, but they’re already clutching at each other for dear life. I close my eyes and breathe deeply to clear my mind. I need to rid myself of the panic gripping my very soul. I wonder if I should come clean to Prim right now and finally cast away the weight of guilt I’ve been carrying around the last three days. But then again, It’s only one clay slide in hundreds, chances are she’ll never need to know I put my own name in the ballot instead of hers.

The Lupinaeda is finally in front of us. The married women cheer gleefully, sticking their arms over the railing as the men in wolf skins whip their hands, while howling like animals.

More women rush down the marble steps to get closer to the Lupinaeda’s thin belts. The clamor ‘Whip me! Whip me!’ over and over waving their hands eagerly. A few of the women even lean over the handrail and let their fingers drag across the men’s glistening, muscular arms, giggling shamelessly. The woman simply spill into the street, and that’s when the floggings turn naughty.

Prominent men from town take the place their wives and daughters abandoned on the marble rails. The men lower bottles of wine and liquor, to pass along to the Lupinaeda. A gift of their own. Something to share as regular men.

The men-wolves drink generously; once their throats have been lubricated with spirits, the whip their leather tongues indiscriminately.

Women get whipped on their legs, romps, and chests. The brides and wives lift their dresses mid thigh under the guise of tradition, since the lore says the lash has to leave a mark on the skin to count, and the more daring ones unbutton their blouses and bare their backs and part of their bosoms to expose more skin for the lashes.

A grotesque exhibition, if I’ve ever seen one!

“How are they so sweaty, you reckon?” Prim asks peeking around the cluster of heads I’d strategically chose to stand behind to shield her. Her brow furrows in mild disgust.

“The men-wolves? They are actually anointed in aromatic oils, blessed by the Luperci.” Says Rue standing on tiptoes to get a better look.

“How do you know?” Prim asks aghast.

“My father used to clean the Temple before his death. There are so many secret rituals in Lupercalia, I’m not sure we’ll ever understand it completely.” Says the girl sagely.

“Girls, come closer,” I sigh trying to gently steer them down where they’re shielded from the awful display again. I know there are children far younger than them in the audience, but those children are not my direct responsibility.

I’m about to try and persuade them to look away, when I see ‘Him’.

My breath catches in my throat and there’s an uncomfortable knot twisting my stomach. I feel my hands twitch and have to fist the hem of my coat’s sleeve to keep from trembling.

His head is covered with a gray wolf headdress. The ears of the unlucky animal stick right up and the way his head is turned in my direction gives the illusion that he’s staring at me, but his eyes are obscured by his wolf mask, and the only reason I know the man standing frozen in mid whipping position is Him, is because I can see the halfmoon scar left by my own teeth on the outside of his right thumb.

Peeta.

The memories flood me at once, and now I’m shaking head to toe.

I remember the way I felt that awful day, two years ago. He was three weeks shy of seventeen, his eyes were the color of a warm summer sky, his ashy blond hair fell on waves over his forehead; his smile was shy, sweet and contagious. He was my best friend in the whole world. The only one that could read my thoughts and moods like an open book. He was the one who knew all of my secrets and dreams. The one wouldn’t have minded to be courted by if we had reached nineteen together.

When his name was called out by the Luperci, I cried out “No! Not him!”

I pulled at his clothes so hard to keep him from leaving me behind, I ripped his coat. I yelled and pleaded, “Not him! He’s mine!” Repeatedly until he had to clamp my mouth shut with his hand. Like rabid animal, I sank my teeth into the flesh of his calloused hand only letting go when my father lifted me off the ground and carried me away from the crowd.

I tasted the metallic flavor of his blood for days, although my mother said it was all in my head. I just thought that tasting his life force was a right punishment for not actually see him take the walk to Lupercano like the rest of town.

Some best friend I was!

In my mind’s eyes all I could see was the perfect bloody imprint of my teeth on his pale skin, and I hoped the scar would be enough to remind him of who he was, to me, even after his humanity was washed away and a mutt was left on its place.

“Peeta?” Prim pipes up. I must’ve said his name aloud without meaning to. “Where is he? How do you know is him?” She asks elbowing her way around the people in front of us, craning her neck to catch a glimpse. She loved him too, like a brother.

I haven’t spoken his name since he was taken. The mere mention of it sent me on a spiral of despair and melancholy, not very different than what my mother suffered when father died. I grieved for Peeta like one mourns the dead. For all intents and purposes, my best friend, Peeta Mellark, was dead. He was never coming back.

“I- I’m not sure, Primy. But, he’s bound to be there, wouldn’t he?” I try to smile at my sister, but I can feel my lower lip quiver.

Even if I hadn’t seen the scar on his hand, something in my gut tells me I would still had been able to pick him out of the crowd of semi naked men. There’s a surety in me I could feel his presence anywhere, it’s dizzying.

For reasons I can’t explain, I feel more alone than ever.

My father is gone. My mother is unreachable in her grief. Prim is standing here next to me, but it feels like we’re lambs waiting to be slaughtered. To top it all off, my once best friend can never return to me, even though he’s a mere yards away. We could never speak to each other, unless the unthinkable happens, and my name gets called.

Prim takes my hand and squeezes it to her chest. “Oh, Katniss. It’ll be alright. If I get reaped, Peeta will protect me from the worse.”

I snap at her unintentionally. “They're not going to choose you, Prim! Stop talking that way.”

My sister grimaces and I clench my eyes for a moment, reigning myself back. After the initial surge of fear and anxiety dwindles down, I tell her in a much calmer, soothing tone, “There are hundreds of slabs in the bowl this year. Neither you, nor Rue will be chosen.” I say meaningfully, “The goddess is not without a heart.” I take a deep breath then and decide to confess my secret. “Plus… I never put your name down for the reaping.”

“What do you mean, Katniss? I saw you go into the potter’s shop to engrave our tablet week’s ago!”

“I did. It just wasn’t your name I pressed on the clay.“

Prim looks stricken and hurt. “How could you? It’s my responsibility, Katniss!”

“No, is not!” I bite back. “You’re fourteen. Your responsibility is to study healing, practice crafting remedies and helping the sick get better. You’ll be far better company to mother than I’d ever be!” All the vehemence of my argument leaves me spent. “Prim, it’s just one clay plank in hundreds. We have the best possible odds.”

I look up. I’m slightly disappointed the man I identified as Peeta has moved on. The Lupinaeda is already coming to a stop in front of the Temple steps and the Reaping ceremony is about to begin.

A fear older than time itself settles in my chest, weighing heavily on my stomach. For a moment a feel like my meager breakfast is going to make an appearance, so I shut my eyes tightly and squeeze Prim’s hand to the point of pain.

I lift prayers to Lupa in my head, asking for protection. My sister deserves the favor of the goddess whatever should happen, so does Rue. But, really, I fear I’ll be chosen because the odds haven’t been very dependable of late.

Before I know it, I’m chanting in silent lips, “Not me, not me, not me…”

The voice I’ve been dreading to hear all this time finally speaks. “Welcome, welcome, citizens of Panem. We are here to celebrate the cleansing of our towns, the blessing of the goddess, the choosing of this year’s Tributes. As always, maidens first,”

The High Priestess, better known as High Luperci— a woman who once was known as Effie Trinket— is the only person allowed to pick tribute names out of the reaping bowl. She sticks her hand in the big container and plucks a tablet with a flick of her wrist.

“Not me, not me, not me…” I beg quietly. And it’s not me.

“Primrose, from the house of Everdeen!”

I go mute.

Prim gasps but steps ahead holding her head high.

I watch her move, like gliding amongst the other participants.

I don’t understand.

I engraved that tablet myself and placed in the drying rack with the other dozens of tablets.

There was an official, overseeing it process—

Suddenly, a sinking suspicion turns the blood in veins into ice.

Those bastards added her name anyway!

My chest is burning with anger.

Prim slips out of her coat, leaving it limping in Rue’s hands. Rue doesn’t know how to react either.

My eyes burn with tears, then I see something that hits me like a ton of stones, and image etched in my memory from our childhood: The shirttail of Prim’s blouse comes loose and sticks out of her woolen skirt, like a duck tail.

“Little Duck!” I choke out before I can stop myself.

Prim stops mid step and turns her head so fast her lone, blonde braid whips around cutting through the air.

Causing a scene never sits well with the rabble and the leaders of Panem, but Prim’s face registers surprise at my outburst. ‘Little Duck’ was what our father used to call her. I’ve lost so much to Panem though. I’m moving, shoving people out of my way, stepping around them like they’re puddles of mud my feet gets stuck in, until my bare feet land on the freezing cobblestones of the road.

I flinch at the icy shock running up my soles all the way up my spine, and ending on a brain freeze so painful I think I’m going to faint. But before I pass out, I gurgle the words as loud as I can, and then I’m screaming it, fearful they won’t hear me.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

“No!” Gasps Prim, her knees buckling under her weight while rushing towards me. “Katniss you can’t do this! It’s my responsibility! They called me, not you!”

Prim clings to my arm, pulls me back like a vise. The jokes on her. I take a leaf out of her book and let my coat fall off my shoulders and step away from her, quickly climbing the steps to te Temple. Somebody from the crowd, my neighbor’s second son, Rory Hawthorne, steps in before Prim starts wailing and practically throws her over his shoulder and takes her away to the back of the crowd. Rory’s older brother comes to help, since Prim is fighting back, kicking and sobbing. Rue is trying to smother my sister’s noises by hugging her tightly.

They disappear from sight for a moment, long enough to get me marching past the Lupinaeda, that are excitedly watching, breathing hard and panting under their wolf skin hoods. I make the mistake of looking their way, and I see their otherworldly, bright eyes stare back at me hungrily.

My heart lodges in my throat and I have to push tears back. I can’t afford any weaknesses now.

I sense him before I see him.

My face turns ever so slightly to the far end of the wall of pelts, and I swear I can feel him seething.

He’s angry. I’m not sure how I know this, but I’m certain Peeta’s rage is pulsing in waves out of him, washing over me and putting me on edge. I stare in his general direction, because I don’t need his permission or approval to save my sister from whatever fate awaited her as a tribute. I finally locate him. The only Lupinaeda refusing to watch my every step. That’s how I know I’m right about him being angry.

Peeta doesn’t condone my actions. And I can’t say I care, which I guess is the thing that gives me the courage I need to face the Luperci.

I’m doing this out of spite.

“Katniss Everdeen,” High Luperci, formerly known as Effie Trinket calls my name out in chastisement. “For interrupting the reaping ceremony, you’re hereby declared the lowest of the servants in the house of Loba, the Moon Mother. In punishment you will clean latrines for the rest of your life. You will live in the catacombs of the Temple of Lupercano, never to see the light of day or feel the warmth of the sun—“

The Lupinaeda looks visibly agitated. They twitch, pant, and murmur almost as one. Suddenly, the earth rumbles and groans under our feet, cutting off my sentencing, while the Lupinaeda presses closer to where I stand in trial before Panem, grunting and whining like puppies denied a treat.

A man wearing colorful robes runs past me and up to stand next to the High Priestess. Claudius Templesmith, my mind provides after a second. He’s a prophet of Lupa, a mouthpiece of sorts.

A whispered argument ensues between Claudius and the Luperci. I look back at the Lupinaeda and notice their breathing patterns is picking up, and their glowing eyes are trained on me. They already know what Lupa has decided.

A chill runs down my spine. Fear pools in my belly again. I wish we could go back to latrine cleaning duties, because I rather take on human waste for the rest of my life, than a horde of hungry looking wolf-men ready to mate.

My eyes fly to the crowd yonder, it takes me a minute, but I finally find Prim, Rue and the Hawthornes, almost back to the front of the expectators. My poor sister looks anxious, her cheeks are tear stained, but she’s no longer screaming for me.

I’m glad I found Rue today. I’m glad she’s there to watch after Prim for me, because I didn’t think about Prim’s reactions and how to handle them. At the moment, the two girls are hugging each other, Rue seems to be combing her fingers through Prim’s hair soothingly. They will be fine from now on, I decide; me on the other hand, maybe not so much.

I look back at the Lupinaeda when their restlessness becomes acute. They growl and grunt more loudly. I try not to seek Peeta out, but relent soon enough and my eyes zero in on him almost immediately. He’s the only one standing still, his ears perked up and alert, he’s poised to run, towards me I can tell.

“Lupa, has spoken!” Cries high priestess Effie a little more exaggerated than her usual verb. She throws her arms up the air for effect.

I’m holding my breath, willing my knees to stop shaking so badly.

The goddess wouldn’t throw just any maiden to the Lupinaeda in heat, right? And I am not beautiful, at least not like Primrose. I’m my sister opposite in looks: olive skinned; gray eyes; straight, inky black hair, small and thin for my age, mostly surly and perpetually scowling. I am no genetical marvel either. But a little voice in my head reminds me the goddess does throw Boy Tributes to the actual wolves every year, why would I be any different?

“The volunteer, Katniss Everdeen, has accepted as tribute. Her sacrifice has pleased Loba so much that for the next two years, Panem will be exempt of paying live tributes to her cult. This young woman has shown love for her family and bravery in times of desperation. For her sacrifice, Panem will be blessed beyond our expectations.”

Deafening cheering erupts from the crowd. Chantings and praises to Lupa arise from all sides.

I choke on my spit. My breath hitches and my eyes sting with terrified tears.

Luperci Effie stares at me with a blank face. “Katniss Everdeen, the goddess has given you the task of Child Barer for the Lupinaeda. One of her sons will claim you as his bride, and mate with you until death collects on your souls.”

The Lupinaeda behind me starts howling. Their eyes burn holes in the back of my head, descending all the way to my feet and feasting in my modest figure. Suddenly, I remember my coat and boots are gone. Maybe death will get to me before a wolf-man can sink his fangs into my flesh?

I try to ignore the Moon Servants, but it is impossible. They seem to be salivating, lusting after me. I’m nothing special to look at, in fact, Prim at fourteen has more pronounced curves than I do, but that doesn’t stop the wolf-men from huffing, chuffing and whimpering in delight at the confirmation that they have a chance to mate tonight.

My fear spikes to overwhelming amounts. I can’t seem to stop shaking. I console myself thinking that a child of a Lupinaeda will never have their name entered in the reaping and will receive the best education in the region. One day, they may even be above this whole ritualistic society and flee its constricted life style. At least, that’s what I’ll try to instill in any child I may bear to the Lupinaeda that catches me.

High Priestess Effie lifts both arms and cries out loudly, “Lupinaeda, may the odds be ever in your favor. Let the Tribute Run commence.”

My stomach bottoms out, my blood curls in my veins. I stare at the crowd, frozen in panic.

“Katniss! Run!” Prim screams from the mob watching.

Unfortunately, my feet seemed to be stuck on the hard, cold ground. I just stared at the hoard of flashing eyes under furry hoods, speechless, numb and unmoving. Out of my peripheral vision I see one man cloaked in his wolf skin break away from the throng, snatch a spear one of the guards of the Luperci has been parading around with and used the bottom of the shaft on my lower back, forcing me to scoot forward.

The nudge— while startling— isn’t quite enough to wake me from my fear induced stupor. The the man-Wolf grunts enraged, and pokes me with the stick harsher.

I look at him confused and I wished I hadn’t, because I know this man. He growls at me.

“Damn it, Katniss, run! Don’t just stand there, run!” The anxiety in his voice is what finally snaps me to action.

It surprises me, his voice is still the only thing to reach me even now. But I don’t have time to reminisce and dwell in the past; I stumble forward, and he shoves me with spear shaft again, urging me on, while his brothers close in on us.

I run. As fast as I possibly can. Pumping my legs to the point of pain and fearful to pull a muscle in the process. It doesn’t help that I’m freezing and barefoot, in contrast, my wool dress feels heavy and cumbersome to run in. I’ve left everything else with Rue and Prim; I have nothing to protect me from the elements now, and I’m not sure how long this game of mouse and cats will last for.

I’m near the edge of town when I hear the Lupinaeda’s horns blaring in the distance. My heart quivers and lodges in my throat. Hot, stinging tears blur my vision and for a split second I stand staring at the dense vegetation of the woods. My instinct tells me to run into it and never stop until I’m on the other side of it. But my head screams at me to not be a fool. The men will catch up to me in the woods before I even take a handful of steps.

The noises of my chasers grow, like the swarming of wasps flying towards me. The closer they get, the more my ears pick up. I hear voices hissing my name, “Kat-niss, Kat-niss.”

I never knew this level of dread existed, but it hits me square in the gut and I volt swallowing down the sick threatening to choke me. I stumble through the brush, crashing against trees since the tears blur my vision. I stuck my hands out and try to steady myself, begging my legs to stay strong, and my adrenaline to not falter me now.

Back in my village I could go out into the woods before dawn, while the sky was still dark and moonless, and navigate it with minimal light. But this isn't my woods. I don’t recognize any of the trees or the animal-carved trails. I’m not sure where I’m going and wonder if the panic that’s overwhelming me is the same feeling that takes over my prey when I’m the one stalking them.

I take a sharp left in a clearing.

The Lupinaeda is closing in, I can hear their hissing growing louder and clearer. They’re chanting my name, calling me to them.

My legs are cramping. Pain shoots up one foot and pierces it’s way to my head. I cry out and crash against a tree. My foot is bleeding. Just what I needed, a brightly red trail to assist the Lupinaeda in chasing me.

At some point, I have to stop running, turn around and face my chasers. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it.

My feet falter, quaking from exhaustion. I contemplate taking a rest against it a tree trunk, just to catch my breath; my hands are on my knees before I know it and I’m breathing harshly. The freezing ground bites at the soles of my feet. I consider ripping my skirt to bandage my bleeding foot, but I’m trembling something awful. I realize just how much the temperature has dropped and how vulnerable I am. The tips of my fingers, toes, nose and ears are numb, I’m afraid they’ll break off if I touch them.

I’m so tired, so cold. The Lupinaeda have slowed down too, but they still advance closing in, I hear them approche on the dead foliage. They taunt me this way, because I’m sure they can be as silent as me on a real hunt. I was a fool to think I could lose them in their own domain. These are their hunting grounds! I never had a chance outrunning them. I was delusional to think I could.

I’ve half convinced myself to give up and accept what fate awaits me, but my flight instinct takes over, a man-Wolf crushes through a bush a stone throws away. I scream and scamper away on my hands after falling to the ground startled. Another Lupinaeda launches at me then, only stopping because a whistling spear suddenly gets impaled at my feet.

The hoard is close, their excited shouts are a clear indication. I fall to the ground again, there’s nowhere to go now. I don’t even make an effort to get away when a man-wolf sweeps down on me. The Lupinaeda yanks me up by the arms, and I simply limp against him as he heaves me to my feet.

“Katniss, run! Climb a tree, get out of here, now!” He growls at me.

“Peeta?” My voice cracks. I’m so disoriented it takes me a moment to realize his crazed eyes are filled with terror.

“We have to get you far, quickly.” He grunts giving me another shove.

I stumble away, and soon come to a steep hillside, almost a vertical wall of natural rock and dirt. To the other side are a few pine trees too tall to escale. I’m trapped and the men are practically upon me.

I hear their howls before I see them, my fear spikes and I decide I will fight to the last drop of my strength. I reach for a fallen branch and wait for my attackers to swing my poor excuse for a weapon against them.

I paralyze when Peeta’s the one to hulk above me. He’s shielding me I realize. He starts speaking frantically, apologizing profusely, I don’t know why or what he’s talking about until he pushes me against the rock and turns me around so my hands and chest are pressed firmly onto the cold hillside.

“It’s either me or them.” He pants into my ear. His voice sounds darker and deeper than I recall it, but it’s still familiar and sweet to my ears. “There isn’t much time. I need you to listen carefully, alright?” He says wrapping one muscular around my shoulders and across my chest. His other hand smooths down my side. “Nod if you understand.” He says lowly.

I feel calmer for the first time today. Having Peeta so close, with his body pressed to mine, feels like a luxury. “Alright, Peeta.” I sigh melting into his very warm, very solid chest.

“Good.” He murmurs into my ear, causing my body to react strangely at the sound. “I can’t let them have you. But I really need your permission to do what I must to claim you as mine.”

“Oh…” I knew this was coming, of course, that is the whole reason I was chosen as tribute, and honestly, I’m not as frightened with him holding me so protectively.

“This is what I’m going to do,” He starts, his hand caressing my rib cage, “I will put my hand under your skirts, tear up your undergarments like a savage, and here is where I absolutely need your permission, because the next thing I may have to do is penetrate your body with mine.” He traces the shell of my ear with the tip of his nose. His headdress no longer in place. “Nod if you understand.”

My breath hitches, my head is dizzy with his enthralling voice and the warmth emanating from his naked torso. I nod, because I understand, but also because I start to feel flutterings in my stomach that have been dormant since the moment he was taken from me.

“I will try my best to keep us from having to mate in front of the others, but it won’t be easy to get away,” He sounds less in control as he says this. “I will claim you as my wife before the pack, but you need to know, the Lupinaeda may demand to witness the act, and they may relieve themselves while watching. If that comes to pass, I need you to keep your eyes on me, and only me. If you look at another during the mating, they may share you with me. I don’t want to happen. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I tremble in his arms. Fear grips my being until his deep, dark voice calms me again.

“Will you let me claim you as my wife?” He asks pressing our bodies even closer. “If you say no, I will fight to the death with my clan to keep you safe. But that does not guarantee your safety. Think on your decision, Katniss.”

I would have married him given the chance, so I breath out my response shakily, “Yes, Peeta. This would’ve happened anyway.”

He grunts lowly, nuzzling his face into my neck.  
“We have to do this quickly then. The others… they’re almost here, I can smell them. And it’ll be easier if they think we are already mating. Less chance for anyone to contest our union.”

“Do as you must. I trust you.” I say trying not to sob.

Peeta sighs, his free hand tugs on my skirt. “Remember, if they demand proof, I will have to let them see me sink my member deep inside you. I will try my best to avoid that.”

I’m trembling as his arm tightens around my chest and the other fumbles with the folds of my petticoat.

I start crying. This can’t be happening.

I can tell Peeta’s upset too, but his warm fingers brush my thigh and he whimpers into my ear, “I’m so sorry, Katniss.” Regret and pain thickens his already strange voice. “I’ve loved you since we were wee little children. I can’t let them have you.”

His hand is hot against my bare hip. My body gives an involuntary lurch and he tightens his hold me.

A rush of wetness drips down my inner thighs when Peeta’s fingers slip on the waist of my bloomers and gives a sharp yank; the material rips with an almost satisfactory sound. Peeta’s lips press against the skin of my neck, and tugs on my underwear again. More seams rip apart.

I’m confused by how feverish I feel suddenly. There’s so much moisture between my legs, I wonder if I may have relieved my bladder out of fear, but no hot fluids pool at my feet, which leads me to believe whatever I’m feeling is connected to Peeta ripping apart my under clothes.

“They’re here.” He pants into my skin. He hesitates, caressing my legs more gently than the moment would suggest.

I think he’s trying to figure out a way out of this before he has to do the unthinkable. Just as his fingers come within reach of the apex of my thighs, the Lupinaeda emerges from the tree line and surround us.

“She’s mine!” Peeta growls ferally at the other men. His hand however remains glued to the inside of my thigh, just an inch from where my traitorous core throbs for his touch.

“You know the rules, Peeta. There has to be proof. Otherwise, she’s fair game.” Says one of the men stepping forward.

“Here’s your proof!” He tears the bloomers from under my dress and tosses it to hoard.

The men sound like a pack of rabid dogs, I close my eyes, afraid of the things Peeta warmed me about, but I hear how the last of my poor undergarments gets torn to smithereens. I can only assume the Wolf-men are fighting over the shreds of fabric still doused in whatever fluids cover my thighs now.

“That doesn’t count!” Shouts someone.

“We have to see physical evidence!” Howls another.

“Lads!” A gruff, scratchy voice drawls from somewhere back. “Settle.”

Peeta’s hold on me relaxes minimally. I chance a peek in the direction of the voice, and see the hoard of semi naked men covered in wolf pelts part for a paunchy, middle-aged Lupinaeda with skin the same color as mine and dangerous gray eyes not quite covered by his hood.

“Why are all you kids brawling over such a petty matter?” The man asks in a bored tone.

“It’s not petty! This woman was deemed exceptionally valuable by Mother. This woman is worth three years worth of tributes, and Peeta has been interfering with the Tribute Run ever since it started.” Says one Lupinaeda scornfully, throwing dirty glances in Peeta’s direction.

“Well… I’ll say he’d interfered. I would’ve have too in his position!” The older man cackles heartily, and brings a bottle of white liquor to his lips from out of nowhere.

Nobody speaks for a moment, everyone stares at the older man-wolf expectantly.

“Why is that?!” Demands the first Lupinaeda, a burly thing the could break my neck in one squeeze.

The older man snorts, “Well, she’s his.” Says the man like it’s obvious.

“See! She is mine!” Peeta grunts.

A wave of dissenting murmurs breaks out. The men crowd closer to us menacingly. It’s strange to me, but I can actually smell the perspiration and dirt on these men. It’s not appealing at all.

Peeta squeezes me tightly, and shuffles us a few inches away.

I try to burrow deeper into Peeta’s arms, the rocky wall in front of me feels colder and sharper the longer we stand here, debating my fate. Peeta’s his hand twitches between my thighs, and he starts whispering reassurances into my ear I’m not sure are entirely for my benefit.

“We want irrefutable proof!” The men demand. “Show us the proof. Lift her skirt, let us see her secret places and a cock buried deep into her!”

I whimper tucking my face into Peeta’s shoulder. I was never comfortable with nudity. Lupercalia and it’s Festival always made me feel awkward and embarrassed. The wanton way people would act; the bawdy songs and vulgar jokes never sat well with me. Peeta called me pure once, I got angry at him, even when he tried to explain that he found me perfect just that way. But the lewd way these men are talking about me, has me in a state of anxious terror.

“Why would I fuck my wife in this cold, hard ground, having a perfectly soft bed in my chamber?” Peeta calls. “I won’t have my woman be uncomfortable during her first time.”

“So you admit you haven’t mate with her yet?” One man shouts excitedly.

“I got interrupted by you lot!” Peeta hisses back, “But I have her nice and ready, I know you can smell her scent as well as I!” He boasts.

“Give her here! And thank you for start her up for us!” Counters somebody.

“She’s mine!” Peeta growls, yanking me back to him.

I’m sure a brawl is about to start, when the old Lupinaeda hacks a cough and stands in the middle of the crowd with outstretched arms.

“Stop!” He hollers. “There’s a mark!” He yells angrily.

Everyone takes a step back.

“What mark is this, Haymitch?” Someone asks.

“Her mark!” Peeta hisses, tilting his hand so everyone can see the scar on his thumb. A perfect imprint of my teeth on his pale flesh.

The men stare at the scar skeptically. Soon, they argue amongst themselves, no one addressing Peeta directly, Finally a Lupinaeda tosses his head in defiance, his words biting and dripping sarcasm.

“That bite is as old as the day he joined us. Any woman would have given it to him. What we need is to see him fucking her, or else, moving aside so someone else can do it.”

“Peeta…” I beg, clawing at his forearm.

He yanks me back one step further away from the mob.

“My fingers are inside her!” He grunts breathing harshly. Of course his fingers only tighten on my thigh making me wince and whine. He doesn’t move to enter me though. “It’s her bite, you can match each teeth to scar.”

“Boy, shut it. I got this!” Says the old man taking a deep breath, like this whole thing pains him. “Sweetheart here belongs to Peeta.” He drones on as if explaining a particularly easy lesson to very dull pupils. “The day of his Reaping she claimed him as hers, but nobody listened to her. Then, she bit him, like a good little she-wolf. Do you not remember that, lads? She showed so much spunk then, we all agreed this little girl was on fire. Ring any bells yet?” He asks pointedly, staring every man in the crowd like they were naughty children caught in a lie.

“She’s my childhood sweetheart, brothers. We were going to marry on our nineteenth birthday, but I got reaped. If Haymitch remembers it, then all of you must do as well. You know I speak the truth.” Peeta’s voice is as hard as steel, even though he’s lying through his teeth.

We were never anything other than best friends growing up, but now I’m glad for my irrational reaction during his reaping, because a long silence has fallen on the pack, and I think they have started to believe him. I pray these men will let him be without incident, but we have no such luck.

“Show us!” A man challenges, and the rest of the Lupinaeda starts hooting and cheering.

I sob.

“Fine!” Peeta’s hand, the one around my shoulders, splays over my face. He yanks me back from the rocky wall and turn us to face the men.

Instead of pulling my dress up to show them my sex, he shoves three fingers into my mouth making me gag slightly. His fingers taste of dirt, and briefly, I entertain the idea of biting him, but I remain rigid in his hold.

“There!” He roars, “I’m inside her! She’s mine!” He pulls me tighter against his chest for good measure, but since my back was already flushed with his front, he just manages to bring my feet off the ground a few inches. “I’m inside of her. She’s mine. Get out so I can mate in peace with my woman!” Peeta snarls.

“That’s not what the rule says!”

“The rule only says that some part of a Lupinaeda has to penetrate some part of the tribute. Since his hands are part of him, and her mouth is a damn good opening in her body to fill, I judge the deed done!” Haymitch barks irated, “Now, get back to your dwellings. You’ve all tested me to the limit today, pack of fools!”

Every man in the crowd seethes, but nobody argues, and after a minute of scornful stares, one by one, the men start to retreat.

“None of this was fair, Haymitch, and you know it!” Says the same man who called for proof after all the sappy story Peeta told about our foiled childhood romance.

“Get, Cato!” Haymitch warns sternly. “I can still punish you for insubordination.”

The one called Cato bares his teeth at us, but he too slips behind the trees and into the woods.

Is just us three finally. Peeta won’t let up his strangling hold, but my feet are at least touching the ground again.

“Thank you, Haymitch.” Says Peeta humbly. “I… could never repay—“

Haymitch raises a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to say anything, Boy. The girl truly had a previous claim on you. But if ever I have to clean up your shit again…” his dangerous gray eyes fix Peeta for a second. “Go home. Make some good looking puppies, and don’t bother me again. Mother knows I can only take so much of this crap anymore.” Haymitch tips his bottle to us, and leaves us there. Clutching to one another.

Peeta’s arm finally slides away from me. I feel oddly dizzy, having to stand up on my two feet for myself suddenly.

“Now what?” I whisper in a cracked voice.

Peeta pushes back the wolf mask, taking it completely off his head. His smile is just as heartbreakingly sweet and shy as I remember it, only it’s a bit crooked now.

My heart gives a little jolt at how beautiful he is. I smile back at him.

“Hi,” he mumbles bashfully, nudging my arm with his.

“Hi,” I respond equally embarrassed.

“It’s been… a day.” He says pulling a face.

“Oh, this? I always get attacked by wolf-men in the woods.” I wave him off dismissively, and break into chuckles at his stunned expression.

He narrows his uncommonly bright eyes at me, but joins in the laughter soon enough.

Peeta shakes his head ruefully. He sighs, “I am so very sorry this happened to you, Katniss. Truly.”

My lips thing out, and suddenly I can’t hold his gaze. “We still need to mate, don’t we?”

Peeta tilts my head back with a finger under my chin. He bows his head, so our eyes are leveled. “Yes.” He says simply. “But, most of the things Haymitch and I said to the Lupinaeda are true, Katniss.”

“Like what?”

Peeta shrugs, “I really was going to ask for your father’s permission to court you. I really planned on marrying you at nineteen.”

My lips quiver a little. And I’m reminded of how cold it is out here, and how underdressed I am.

“I’m sorry about your father, Katniss. I came at night and left him flowers and feathers the day of his burial.”

“You did?” I ask meekly.

He nods. Then we are hugging, and I’m not sure who initiated, but it feels so good, so impossibly good to be in his arms, I know I will not be pulling away first.

“I claimed you as mine,” I say into his neck. “That was true as well.” I brace my hands on his naked chest, and a dull ache makes my core throb between my legs. “It is time for you to claim me.” I say I’m a sultry voice I ignored I had.

Peeta’s eyes darken. A ferocity takes over his features that both thrills me and scares me. “I’m a Moon Servant, from the temple of Lupercano, I live deep in the woods surrounding the temple. I’m taking you there now, because what I said about laying you on my bed for your first time, was also true.” His voice has darken and deepened too.

My stomach bottoms out. My face heats up, and every hair in my body stands on point.

“Nod if you still want to become my wife?”

I don’t have to think about it, I’m nodding desperately.

“Come on then!” He grunts wolfishly, and that’s where his mouth captures mine in our first kiss.

The rest of the evening is a blur. He picks me up in his arms, and runs through the woods like he could die if we lingered in that clearing.

Once in his home, he took my face in his hands, and kissed me again, hard. Hungrily. He tore my clothes off my body like they were nothing. And he worshiped every inch of body with his mouth and hands until I cried in desperation, begging for him to take me.

The first time Peeta pushes into me, he does slowly, gently, lovingly. Once he’s completely sheathed inside me, his eyes squeeze shut and his head lolls forward, against my forehead. After a moment, he whispers, “You feel like heaven, Katniss.” He moves measuredly and slowly, taking care to kiss my face until the discomfort of being filled for the very first time fades away. He makes sure I find my release before he finds his, but when he does, he howls to the moon, maybe gratefully for this blessing.

“You love me, real or not real?” He asks into my ear.

“Real,” I sigh into his lips.

The next he takes me, he transforms into a beast.

I learn the meaning of the word fucking when my husband turns into an animal in bed. He nips and licks and bites; breasts, nipples, fingers, toes, lips, labia, nose and clit. No part of me goes unnoticed. He puts my on my hands and knees and plows into me like a man possessed. This goes on for hours.

Do we sleep? I don’t know, but the ache in my bones the next day is delicious and welcome. I decide, I like married life with my best friend.

* * *

** _ A year later: _ **

Primrose throws her arm around my shoulders. She’s taller than me now, and a beautiful young lady as well. At fifteen, she’s the most sought out healer in Panem, though my mother is still teaching her the trade.

“Come inside, it’s cold and you won’t get to see him.” Cajols my sister playfully.

“I just cannot understand why a man can’t be excused from that stupid festival when his wife is in labor? Is he expected to miss the arrival of his child?” I grumble irritably.

“Katniss… it’s his job. It’s the most important day of his job. I believe you and your child are the stubborn ones. Who delivers a baby on Lupercalia? And I could bet all our wealth you’re doing out of spite!”

I snort. “I wished I had that much control over my body.”

When it was confirmed I was with child, Peeta moved Primrose, our mother and Rue to the edge of town, just shy of the city boundaries, the closest to the temple of Lupercano as physically possible. I was allowed to live with my mother and sister about a month ago, in preparation of the birth. Now my child most hate Lupercalia as much as I do, because contractions started earlier this morning, and they’ve been getting stronger and closer together ever since.

Rue, comes in wearing a new, woolen shawl. “Katniss! Master Peeta sends word. He’ll be here right after the parade!” She says breathlessly.

“Oh good! Maybe he’ll get to meet the child by then.” I say sarcastically.

“Don’t be silly, Katniss! The baby isn't crowning yet. He has time.” Says Prim cheerfully.

Turns out, Prim was right. Peeta made it in time for the worst of it. The pain was excruciating, and I tried to give up twice, but after twenty hours of labor, Marigold Hope Mellark entered the world showcasing her intense blue eyes and her perfectly healthy pair of lungs, on February 16th. Her father and I are very proud of her.

Holding my little girl in my arms has been the greatest joy of my life. But as I watch a fully dressed Daddy-Peeta, asleep on a rocking chair with our baby in his arms, a serene and wondrous expression on his handsome face, I have to send a prayer to Mother Lupa, thanking her for bringing our lives full circle. Life married to my best friend, raising our child together, can’t get any sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> So, Hi! 
> 
> This story has been on the making for over a year. It’s gone through at least three mayor overhauls, and it’s still not as epic as I wish it to be. 
> 
> I took a lot of creative licenses when it came to the religious aspect of the story, specifically the cult to Lupa, so I could fit Hunger Games elements into the idiosyncrasies of the celebrations. The Festival of Lupercalia itself, is pretty much the way I depicted it in the story, except for the more strange parts, like the actual animal sacrifices and the anointing of young boys with bloody milk. But I should back up, and tell you more about this fascinating festival.
> 
> Lupercalia was a real, very strange festival, celebrated by the Romans many centuries ago. The name February comes from the festival— not the other way around, mind you— and means “to be cleansed”. The idea was to perform some ritualistic cleansings on the 15th day of the month. Romans worship wolves, “Lupines” in case you hadn’t noticed, since their whole funding by Romulus and Remus who were raised by a She-wolf, “Loba”
> 
> The most recent account of Lupercalia was written by Plutarch (Not Heavensbee, of THG fame) and he despised the festival. 
> 
> Many rituals of Lupercalia weirded out early Christians, so they banned the practices slowly, and then replaced the whole thing with Saint Valentines Day, on February 14th. 
> 
> If you want to learn more about Lupercalia, I found this website hilariously informative: https://listverse.com/2017/02/14/10-bizarre-facts-about-lupercalia-the-original-st-valentines-day/amp/
> 
> I could go on and write every little fact I learned about the subject, but the truth is, I just wanted werewolves celebrating Valentine’s... and yes, I’m aware this isn’t exactly werewolves nor valentines, but is close enough. This is story is dedicated to MegaAuLover on her birthday, because this idea/prompt of werewolves in Valentines came from a convo with her and a post on tumblr. 
> 
> I still hope anyone reading this piece of just craziness, can enjoy a story based completely on the hair-brain ideas of yours truly. Let me know what you think in the comments below, or come say hi at alliswell21@turmblur. 
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> PS: feliz cumpleaños Rachel! ❤️ U gurl!


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